The Road to Isengard
by Nebride
Summary: -Complete- A new power grows in the ruins of Orthanc. Legolas is captured. Will he be rescued before he is changed forever? Chapter 8 is up.
1. Shadows in the Dark

A/N: Set after the events of "Lord of the Rings" when Legolas and Gimli are adventuring across Middle Earth. This is mostly a "feel good" fic, light on the plot, heavy on appreciation of Legolas. Enjoy! :)  
  
  
  
Legolas stood with his back against a tree, listening to the wind sigh amongst the boughs and watched the scattered clouds flow across the moon. The voice of Fanghorn forest was varied and ever changing. In the past few days that he and his companion Gimli had traveled through it, he had only now begun to understand its vast complexity.  
  
At his feet, Gimli the dwarf muttered in his sleep. Legolas looked down at his friend and a faint smile touched his lips. A friendship between dwarf and elf was unheard of. But he loved the stouthearted dwarf as a brother and found his stubbornness and tenacity both admirable and amusing. That he had convinced the dwarf to travel with him into Fanghorn was a testament to the dwarf's courage, for Legolas knew him to be afraid of the forest.  
  
Legolas himself had promised to travel once again to Helm's Deep with his friend to view the caverns within, a prospect that he did not relish. For he hated the thought of being enclosed in the ground with no wind to touch his face. But perhaps Gimli's enthusiasm would infect him and he could come to appreciate it as the dwarf did. But for now, he listened with contentment and interest to the old forest around him.  
  
The clouds parted once again and a small shaft of moonlight shown down on Legolas giving his fair hair a silver sheen and making his skin glow with an inner light. Wind tossed his hair across his shoulders and he closed his eyes, listening to the night sounds around him.  
  
He opened his eyes again though when a new sound reached his ears. Far beyond the forest, out on the grassy plains came a hissing sound like the whisper of many voices.  
  
Legolas furrowed his brow and stepped cautiously to a clearing where he could look out from under the canopy of trees toward the southwest. A mist moved in the darkness, tumbling across the ground like a marching army, yet no shapes were visible within.  
  
Puzzled by this strange apparition, Legolas crept to the edge of the trees and strained to see across the plains into the coming darkness. That he could make nothing out in the traveling mist troubled him greatly, for he had the exceptional eyesight of his people and could usually see well in the dark.  
  
As the mist grew nearer, sweeping across the grass like a low flying cloud, Legolas thought he heard voices with in it.  
  
Voices and screams of pain.  
  
And as it tumbled along the ground, it seemed to change course and come straight toward him.  
  
Nervously, Legolas stepped back within the shadows of Fanghorn. Whatever devilry this was he didn't wish it to take his friend Gimli by surprise. Until they knew what they were up against, it would be safer for them to move further into the forest and let the shadows of the trees hide them.  
  
Stealthily he crept back to Gimli's sleeping form and started to touch his friend's shoulder. But even as he reached out his hand, the mist suddenly swirled around him.  
  
Screams of torment and death surrounded him. Blinding darkness assailed him. Before he could straighten and reach for his bow, a chill such as he'd never known before descended on him, causing him to double over in pain and cold.  
  
He gasped his friend's name and through the tumultuous din thought he heard Gimli's roar of surprise. Then it was replaced by the snarl of Orcs and Legolas knew no more. 


	2. Visions

The hawk fluttered its wings softly and settled comfortably on the woman's hand, emitting a quiet chirp as she stroked its chest. It had known her for many years and trusted her, as it would no other creature.  
  
"Cleggwaew…" she said softly. Swiftwind. "Lasta ennie…" Listen to me…  
  
The hawk turned his head, eyeing her sideways as she began the slow words of the incantation. He felt the gentle nudge of her mind touching his, but he ignored the feelings that had once frightened him. He clicked his beak lazily and shut both eyes, allowing her to probe his memories.  
  
Alede concentrated on sifting through the images in the hawk's mind. She had known Swiftwind for many years and counted the bird as a trusted friend. But what she saw, or rather what the bird had seen over the last few days disturbed her.  
  
Orcs were moving upon the land again and fires burned in Isengard. The ruins of Orthanc were no longer empty and the Watch Wood that stood around it appeared to be asleep.  
  
She shifted patiently through more images, these of small creatures in the grass that the hawk hunted, an Ent standing in the sunlight in the depths of Fanghorn. Another amusing vision showed her an Elf and a Dwarf on horseback riding at a leisurely pace through the forest. The Elf sat the horse comfortably with one leg draped over its mane and his long hands resting on his thighs. His face was lifted up toward the hawk, so Alede saw his handsome features clearly. He wore an expression of amused serenity, despite the Dwarf who clung behind him as if in terror of being thrown.  
  
The images from the hawk's mind moved on and Alede witnessed more mice and a snake that nearly startled her out of their connection. But then the visions returned to Orthanc and Alede was more troubled with each sighting. Orcs carried bundles of stores into the aged fortress and at dawn she saw a troop of them carrying something else, a long limp bundle. A man perhaps, she thought.  
  
Gently, she refocused her thoughts, breaking the mental link with the hawk. If Orthanc was being used again…  
  
The hawk chirped softly and Alede broke out of her reverie. "Thank you, my friend," she said and pulled out a piece of the dried fish from her pouch. The hawk took it politely, though she suspected that the smoked meat was not really to his liking.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said stroking his chest. "But I'm afraid you would like the dried fruits that I carry even less. And I have not the skill for catching mice that you have."  
  
The hawk shook his tail feathers and Alede lifted her arm high. "Farewell friend," she called as the hawk lifted off of her arm. She watched him gain the heights and then stepped back within the shadow of the trees to sit and think.  
  
If she interpreted the hawk's visions correctly, there could only be one person who would wish to restore Orthanc.  
  
Sildair.  
  
She had not thought of her one time friend, Sildair in a long time.  
  
Deliberately not thought of him. And she wished she did not have to think of him now.  
  
They had been students together under Saruman the White, before the War of the Ring, before Saruman had betrayed them. Before he had betrayed all of Middle Earth.  
  
Sildair had been fascinated by the dark arts and had studied diligently under Saruman. The two of them often huddled over ancient scripts, mumbling wicked incantations, chuckling over the follies of men. Their gloating attitude had given Alede much unease and she had not cared at all for Saruman's superior, condescending tone.  
  
Alede herself had spent more time wandering the lush gardens that had once graced Orthanc, than attending to her studies. Talking to the Rowan trees and the birds had seemed a more profitable study than the ancient texts of greed and power. Saruman had warned her that she'd end up as useless as her gentle father Radagast the Brown. Or even worse, a village witch like her mother. But Gandalf the Gray had encouraged her study of the natural world and did not seem to think the worse of her for it.  
  
In the early days of her training, there had been a friendship between Sildair and herself and a light teasing banter they had both enjoyed. The banter had later turned serious and Alede began to avoid him. Sildair's eyes followed her in a way that made her uncomfortable. As Sildair closeted more and more with Saruman and delved deeper into the dark arts, Alede had begun to fear him.  
  
But during Saruman's downfall, Sildair had been strangely absent. Alede had been far to the North, helping to quell an uprising of Orcs, so had not noticed Sildair's absence.  
  
But now, she wondered… he of all people would wish to restore the power of Orthanc. And he too, had showed no revulsion to Orcs. On the contrary, he'd seemed fascinated by them. Twice he had told her ways of breeding superior Orcs and the power that could be gained by doing so. She had fled him in revulsion.  
  
Alede shuddered and stood up again, trying to decide what to do. She hated to go to Orthanc. The once beautiful grounds had been ravaged, first by Saruman's forces and later by the Ents. It was painful to her to see the destruction of what had once been her home.  
  
Should she try to seek out her father to ask his advice, she wondered?  
  
But no, she knew that was not the right choice. Radagast was a minor wizard and cared nothing for politics. With most of the council gone to the West, he had retreated more and more into the world of nature and birds, which he loved. Besides, she knew nothing really except a few images in a hawk's mind.  
  
Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she walked back out into the sunlight. Her thoughts were interrupted by the piercing cry of Swiftwind as he rode the currents to the east. Squinting, to see him better, Alede walked to the edge of the trees…  
  
And then she heard it, the soft "clop, clop" of a horse. Quickly, she pulled back under the cover of the forest and watched warily.  
  
To her astonishment a long limbed horse trotted past carrying a dwarf. She was so surprised by the sight of such a small person clinging to the saddle like a sack of potatoes that at first she failed to recognize him.  
  
But then the memory came back to her. It was the same dwarf that Swiftwind had seen riding behind the Elf. And it was for this reason that the hawk had called her.  
  
What could cause a dwarf to ride horseback and where was the Elf?  
  
Cutting a course through the trees that would bring her ahead of them, Alede swiftly ran to the edge of the woods. The horse saw her and pricked its ears as they approached, but did not spook. For that, Alede was relieved. The dwarf obviously had little skills for riding.  
  
"Good morrow, Master Dwarf," Alede said once they were close.  
  
"What?!" the Dwarf had not seen her and panicked, hauling back the reins suddenly and nearly unseating himself. The horse tossed his fine head and danced in protest.  
  
Alede quickly stepped out of the shade and caught the crude rope that had been twisted around his nose for a bridle. She remembered that in her vision of the Elf he had used no bridle.  
  
"My apologies, Sir," she said as she quieted the horse. "I did not mean to spook your mount."  
  
"Who are you and what do you want?" the Dwarf blustered. Obviously he was upset by more than just the fright she had given him.  
  
She stepped back and gave him a small bow. "My name is Alede, at your service and your family's," she said courteously, remembering Dwarfish etiquette.  
  
"I am Gimli, son of Gloin, at yours," he replied. "May I ask what a young woman like yourself is doing traveling alone in this place? It is dangerous country. At least I assume you're alone?" he said, looking around as if he expected people to pop out of the woods in droves.  
  
"I am alone. But I am both a ranger and one of the Istari, wizards," she explained. "I travel where I choose and none bother me."  
  
"Ah, I see," said the Dwarf suspiciously. "I've not known many wizards. I did not know there were any left. Did you serve Saruman?"  
  
"He was once my teacher, though I preferred the lessons of Gandalf the Gray and those of my father Radagast the Brown."  
  
"Ahh! That's a different matter," Gimli cried. "Gandalf was a dear friend of mine!"  
  
"Indeed? And how did you …"  
  
"I'm very sorry, young lady," Gimli hastily interrupted. "I don't wish to be rude. But I'm pursuing my friend who has been captured by Orcs. I must continue on my hunt, lest I loose him. Unless you've seen their company?" he asked hopefully.  
  
"No, no Orcs have passed me. Who is your friend and why was he taken?"  
  
"Alas, I do not know why! But we were attacked by Orcs. They carried some devilry with them and appeared as a cloud of mist. But I could hear their foul voices and smell their stinking hides. I do not know what happened. I heard my friend cry out and then all went black for me. When I awoke, I found my friend's quiver and bow upon the ground. The straps had been cut and there was blood upon them. I fear for his life, if he is not already dead. And I know not where they have taken him."  
  
Alede remembered the vision she'd seen of the Orcs carrying a bundle into Orthanc and her heart sank. "What does your friend look like?"  
  
"Oh well, most Elves look alike to me. Though this one is younger than most. He is tall and fair…"  
  
"Oh no," Alede whispered.  
  
"What is it?" Gimli asked urgently.  
  
"There is one of our order…" she paused. Should she tell him the whole story? "There is someone of … power, who may be trying to restore Orthanc. And… he always wished to breed Orcs, to breed new blood into them…" She left the thought unfinished, because it was too horrible.  
  
But the Dwarf read her thoughts. "You mean, they might be trying to turn my friend into an Orc!?"  
  
"Yes, there are so few Elves left on Middle Earth now. That's how the Orcs were originally made. They were Elves captured and tortured beyond endurance until they turned from beings of purity and light to those of complete darkness."  
  
"By my ancestors!" Gimli exclaimed. "What are we waiting for? He's been missing for two days! After them! Show me the way into Orthanc and I'll cleave them all in two."  
  
"No, you can not go," Alede said desperately. "It is too dangerous. This person I speak of is a wizard of some power. You have not the recourses to battle a wizard!"  
  
"But Legolas is as a brother to me! I will not leave him in the hands of those foul creatures."  
  
"No, I agree. You're friend must be rescued and quickly. But you, Master Gimli must not go. I do not doubt your courage, but the wizard would kill you instantly and then you would be of no use to your friend."  
  
"But I must!"  
  
"No. I will go. I can enter where you could not," she said with more confidence than she felt.  
  
"But…"  
  
"The longer we argue about it, the longer your friend suffers."  
  
Gimli was obviously suffering too. He could see the wisdom of her words, but to abandon his friend was unthinkable.  
  
"Very well," he finally said. "If you will not allow me to go into this wizards den, at least take the horse so that you may get there quicker."  
  
"No," she stayed his hand when he would have slid down. "I have my own. Do you have friends in this land, so that I may find you?"  
  
"Helm's Deep. We were going to Helm's Deep."  
  
"Very well. Continue there and I will send you word or bring your friend to you. What ever happens do not come to Orthanc. For I fear it would mean the end of you and your friend."  
  
With those words she shifted her pack off of her shoulder. She pulled out the bundle of ragwort and hastily twined a strand of osier around it, twining her spell with it as well.  
  
Behind her, the Dwarf gasped as the shadow horse came to life, gathering solidity as it raised itself from the very shadows on the ground. Alede vaulted onto it's back and it rose smoothly into the air.  
  
"Farewell, Gimli son of Gloin," she called. "I will find your friend, I promise you."  
  
And then the horse was rising swiftly above the plains and she turned its head toward Orthanc, to the one place in all of Middle Earth that she least wanted to go.  
  
  
  
***Thanks to everyone who posted reviews for chapter one!!!***  
  
*** For anyone who's had trouble with Alede's name, its pronounced "al–a–DAY" and is Numenorean for "morning sun".*** 


	3. Magic Lost

****A/N Thanks to everyone who has given reviews. They just encourage me to write more! This chapter has a strong PG rating, as Legolas does not fare well at the hands of the Orcs. Hang in there! It will get better in the next chapters. ;) Thanks for reading! Nebride*****  
  
  
  
Orcs crowded around Alede as she made her way down the slippery steps into Orthanc's dungeon. She ignored their hisses and tried to ignore the stench. She had singed several of them with her staff when she'd first arrived but they weren't keeping their distance.  
  
"Master will not like this interruption," a large one hissed at her side. The Orc seemed to have appointed himself as her guide, though she needed none and had told him so.  
  
"Sildair and I were friends in our youth," she said through her teeth. "As I told you when I arrived. Now get out of my way. I was raised here, I do not need a guide."  
  
She hated Orcs. Hated them with a passion. The fact that they had once been Elves was a travesty on all life. The only features they retained from their ancestors were the pointed ears, though in Orcs even that feature was twisted and grotesque.  
  
Pushing the Orc away with her staff, she continued down the winding steps until she caught her first glimpse of the dungeon.  
  
Most of it lay in ruins, as did much of Isengard. The Ents had flooded the dungeons and underground passages many times during the War of the Ring. But somehow the water had been drained away recently. And even more disturbing was the forest that lay outside the crumbling walls of Isengard and the Treegard appeared to be asleep. Yet the Ents had left the Watch Wood, as it was called to guard the fortress.  
  
Alede was more frightened than she cared to admit. She wielded no great power. By combining her knowledge of necromancy and green magic, she often could surprise those who did wield power. But she had no confidence in her ability here. The "mist" that the dwarf had spoken of sounded suspiciously like the spell the Dark Lord had used to enslave Elves during the first age. And if Sildair had drained the waters and put the Watch Wood to sleep, he had grown powerful indeed.  
  
She continued down the treacherous steps, seeing everywhere the signs of water and mud. But as she went lower, she saw that the instruments of torture had been lovingly restored. Standing in a ring of torches, one bed of torment still stood. Shaped like a bench, it had rings of iron to bind a prisoner and a dozen devices, which Alede could only guess at their use. Beside the bench, a hot fire burned and an Orc was heating a brand upon it.  
  
Hovering over the bench, gloating, was her old friend Sildair. Even from her position on the staircase, she recognized him. The sleek black hair, the thin willow like figure, the sharp nailed hand stretched out…  
  
Sildair moved to the side, and Alede got a good look at the bench…  
  
A shudder passed through her.  
  
Laying on his back, his wrists and ankles held firmly by the iron rings, was unmistakably the Elf she'd seen through Swiftwind's eyes.  
  
Striped of the beautiful woodland clothing he'd worn, she could barely make out his features for the blood. Gashes were sliced across his ribs, burns marred his skin and arrow wounds dotted his legs. Both his hands were stained with blood. He'd obviously tried many times to pull his hands from the iron bands that held them.  
  
Alede closed her eyes for a moment to block out the vision of pain. Saruman had often tortured Orcs during her days as a student there. But she'd had no stomach for it and had always begged off of those lessons. To see it done to an Elf, a being of such beauty and light…  
  
A cry of pain from below snapped her eyes open again. Sildair had just sprinkled a dusting of powder over the Elf. She recognized the stench that rose up the stairs.  
  
Necromancer's powder.  
  
It was made from the shells of dragon eggs and burned like fire when it touched the skin, causing painful welts and blisters. Few knew how to make it though, and Alede wondered where Sildair had gained the knowledge.  
  
Forcing her fear aside, Alede continued down the steps. She couldn't take Sildair by force, but she could take him by guile. She alone could, for he had admired her once. Perhaps she could use that in her favor.  
  
Glancing back down at the Elf, she caught the twilight color of his eyes as he turned toward the torches. His beautiful face was twisted in agony. She'd do anything to save him despite the terror in her heart and the trembling of her limbs. But if she failed, the Elf would not be the only one to be tortured.  
  
"Making Orcs, are we?" she said loudly in the most casual voice she could manage. She'd have to convince Sildair that she was a friend, before she could free the Elf.  
  
Sildair whirled around. His face was gaunt and sallow and his eyes held a fanatical look. What handsomeness he'd once had was buried beneath a mask of greed and evil. In one arm, he carried a large black book. Alede forced herself not to stare at it, though she immediately suspected that it was the source of Sildair's sudden rise to power.  
  
"Alede! What do you do here?" he asked suspiciously.  
  
"I miss my home, Sildair. Long has Isengard been in ruin. It is good to see it brought back to life." She smiled when she reached him and forced herself to embrace him and kiss his cheek. He returned neither, but narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.  
  
"Who sent you?"  
  
"Sent me?" Alede asked, trying not to look at the book too obviously. "My dear old friend," she purred. "There are none of the order left to send me anywhere."  
  
"What about your father?"  
  
Alede shrugged nonchalantly, "I haven't seen him in months."  
  
The symbols on the book were that of Mordor. Alede flicked her eyes back to Sildair's face before he saw where her glance had fallen.  
  
"I don't think you should be here," Sildair sulked.  
  
Alede feigned astonishment. "But I thought you'd be pleased to see me. We were once such good friends. Do you not remember the flowers you used to bring me?"  
  
"Yes," he replied slowly. "But I thought you did not care for my company then."  
  
The book clearly bore the symbol of the Dark Lord. Had Sauron written his dark arts into a book? She knew it was possible. And she had not seen Sildair for many years. He easily could have picked through the ruins in Mordor during their long separation.  
  
"Ah, well…" Alede said, looking back up at him quickly. She stroked a finger down the side of Sildair's face. "Gandalf warned me away from you. I had to obey my elders, didn't I?"  
  
Sildair shuddered, though whether from her touch or the thought of Gandalf, Alede did not know. She had to resist the urge to wipe her hands on her robes.  
  
On the bench, the Elf was using her distraction to work his hands free. She tried not to winch as she watched the blood flowing down his wrists, lubricating his hands. Even the Orcs were attending to their conversation, grumbling amongst themselves occasionally. But clearly they were waiting to see what their new master thought of this intruder. She'd have to distract them further.  
  
"I grow tired of the world, Sildair. Men have little respect for us now. My life consists of the bitter complaints of the aged or the squalls of village brats as they enter the world…" She was making it up as she went along. In truth she loved the gentle smiles of the elderly, the light in their eyes as they told stories of old. And nothing was more precious to her than a new baby brought into the world, howling lustily with new lungs and kicking tiny legs. Sildair would know nothing of a baby's soft blurry gaze and the delight it could bring.  
  
"I long for excitement," she finished. "To be treated with the respect that we deserve. Do you not feel so?"  
  
Sildair eyed her for a long moment and Alede thought she'd failed. What would she do if he attacked her? Did she know any spells that could counter his? In a hand fight, she could probably take him. For Sildair had always enjoyed soft living, while Alede had roamed the wilds with Rangers on many occasions and taken part in their training. But getting past his magic would be the problem. Just how far into that book had he studied?  
  
"You understand," Sildair said finally. On the other side of the torture bench, the Orcs had remembered their duties and applied the branding iron. Alede couldn't help flinching when the Elf cried out.  
  
"Yes," she said brightly, trying to hide her horror and not to let tears spill from her eyes. She could kill Sildair for what he was doing. "If someone were to show me the respect I deserve," she said, disguising the loathing in her voice with effort. "I would be ever grateful."  
  
"If you help me, Alede," Sildair said warily. "I promise to reward you. But if you betray me…"  
  
"Of course I'll help you," she interrupted.  
  
I'll help you into an early grave, she thought furiously.  
  
Turning a smiling face toward him, she said, "I've always been curious how to make Elves into Orcs. You and Saruman were so much more knowledgeable than I. Obviously you've grown much in power since our last meeting."  
  
Sildair's chest swelled with pride.  
  
"Before we proceed," Alede said gathering her courage. It had to be now or never.  
  
"There's a green spell," she continued. "That requires Elf hair. May I? Before we've changed him too much?" She pulled out her knife slowly, holding it loosely in her left hand so that Sildair would sense no threat.  
  
"Of course," Sildair said magnanimously.  
  
Alede stepped closer to the bench. She forced her eyes to meet those of the Elf and for a moment was caught in the blazing fury in his glance. Sildair hadn't broken him yet.  
  
Reaching down, she lifted one lock of silken hair. Beside her, Sildair leaned forward to watch.  
  
And Alede suddenly swung her left arm up and out catching Sildair on the bridge of the nose with the hilt of her knife. Sildair screamed as the bone broke with a sickening crunch. Alede whirled and brought her staff up, stabbing him hard in the stomach with it. Sildair crumpled to his knees, the book falling to the floor.  
  
Alede dove for it at the same time that Sildair did. But an Orc collided with her, scratching and biting. She went down beneath the creature's weight, but a spell from her staff sent the Orc hurtling away.  
  
She staggered to her feet, but Sildair had already risen. Blood poured from his nose, but he paid it no mind. He held the book in front of him like a talisman. Alede shouted "Conflagrea!" But her spell bounced off of the book.  
  
Sildair gave her an evil smile and began an incantation. Alede could feel the vibration of the magic as it began. It seemed to shake the very ground with its power. Stabbing her staff down into the dirt at her feet, she quickly drew it around her in an encircling spell.  
  
Saruman would have laughed at her for using such an old-fashioned spell, village magic he would have called it. But when Sildair's awful magic hurtled toward her, it bounced off of her shield and ricocheted around the dungeon. Several Orcs burst into green flames as they got in its way.  
  
Ah ha! Alede thought. What ever magic the book contained, it was not compatible with green magic. It hadn't penetrated her circle.  
  
Leaping from her place, she swung at Sildair with her staff. The hard Rowan staff knocked the book to the floor and she swung this time at Sildair's head. Again Orcs leaped at her, tearing her long cloak and knocking her to the ground. But her outstretched hand grabbed the corner of the book and dragged it toward her. She flung the Orcs off of her and leaped to her feet.  
  
Sildair screamed when he saw what she had in her hands and Alede had the sudden urge to open the book and cast a dire spell of her own. She could feel the magic coursing through her fingertips where they touched the tooled leather binding. It vibrated with a life of its own.  
  
She looked down at the runes on the cover of the book, written in the language of Mordor.  
  
For a moment time seemed to stand still, the chaos around her stilled and she looked with longing at the book. If she read its pages, perhaps she could undue all of the evil that Sauron had wrought. She could rebuild Isengard to its former glory. She could finally become a powerful wizardess, as powerful as any wizard that had once sat on the council. The Istari need not pass over into the West as Gandalf had.  
  
She could certainly destroy Sildair.  
  
Her head came up and Sildair shrank back from her. She laughed when she saw that. He was afraid of her now! Her hand moved to open the cover, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the Elf.  
  
He'd freed one hand and his bright blood flowed down his wrist as he grappled with the Orc that had tortured him. The Orc had a throwing knife in its hand, and the Elf's desperate grip was all that had kept the Orc from striking Alede with it.  
  
She staggered and nearly fell to the ground as the book's magic lost its hold on her. What had she been thinking? While she had stood there wrapped in a fog of glory the Elf, still bound to the bench, had saved her life. With a cry of fury, she raced to the Orc, kicking him hard enough to knock him away. Then with only a slight hesitation, she dumped the book into the fire that had been used to heat the brands.  
  
It exploded with a sound like thunder. Alede was thrown across the bench, across the Elf's chest and debris fell all around her. She tried to shield him from it. Orcs howled in pain and somewhere, Sildair was screaming.  
  
She rose up, ignoring the pain in her back where several pieces of debris had struck her and tapped the iron bands with the head of her staff. They fell open and the Elf struggled to sit up.  
  
"Behind you," he said weekly.  
  
Alede whirled and sent the Orc that had been about to cleave her in two flying back. Then spinning her staff over her head, she shouted, "Conflagrea!" again. Flames erupted all around them. Orcs, who had been about to charge her, instead ran amuck as they caught fire.  
  
Furiously, she advanced on Sildair. The young wizard dropped to his knees as she approached.  
  
"Please, Alede… have mercy."  
  
She looked down at his pathetic state. Moments ago she had been intent on killing him. But now, seeing his blanched face and trembling hands she hesitated. She had never killed anyone before and to strike him down when he had neither staff nor any other weapon to defend himself seemed horribly wrong. She still smarted from the temptation that the book had put into her mind. The ways of evil were not in her nature.  
  
"Stand up," Alede commanded. She'd have to find a way to imprison him…  
  
"Thank you Alede," Sildair stumbled to his feet. "You were always such a good friend.." he broke off as his face twisted in rage. The knife she'd used on him earlier flashed in the air and Alede raised her staff just in time to block the blow he'd aimed at her. The blade skittered across her knuckles and scraped the hard Rowan wood.  
  
"Damn you!" Alede shouted in pain. Then shouting another spell, she threw Sildair back, flinging him up the stairs and out of Orthanc. So great was her fury that the spell carried his unconscious body far out onto the plains of Rohan.  
  
Turning back to the Elf, she pulled off her cloak and fastened it around his shoulders. "Can you stand?" she asked urgently  
  
"If you get me out of here," he said weekly. "I think I could fly."  
  
She gently helped him to his feet. There was pandemonium all around them as the Orcs screamed and raced around the dungeon; setting anything they came in contact with on fire.  
  
Alede slipped her arm around the Elf. He was much taller than she expected and incredibly week. He limped heavily beside her and they both nearly lost their balance as Alede stopped to gather up the discarded pile of his clothes. Orcs swarmed around them and any that got too close she flung back with her staff.  
  
Encumbered by her staff, the clothes and the injured Elf, Alede struggled to get them both up the steps.  
  
He blinked long lashes as they stepped out into the light of Orthanc and seemed to revive just a little as he took a deep breath of cold air. Alede helped him out onto the grounds. He leaned against some fallen stone as Alede carefully retied her bundle of ragwort.  
  
She heard the Elf's gasp as the spell horse came to life. Tossing the green charm over the horse's mane, she knelt to give the Elf a knee up. Handing him the staff and the clothes she climbed up behind him and commanded the horse to rise into the air.  
  
Orcs came flooding out of the burning dungeon, screaming as they came into the light of day. The horse lifted above their heads and the Elf suddenly pitched forward in a faint. Alede grabbed him in time to prevent him and their things from spilling to the ground. Then she turned the horse's head north toward the Misty Mountains. 


	4. Blood and Despair

To everyone who has posted reviews, thank you very much! It is the bread of life for me :). Thanks to Raider for the correction on weekly vs. weakly ;) BTW I typically post chapters on Thursday or Friday afternoons.  
  
~Nebride  
  
****  
  
The horse unmade gently as its hooves touched the snow covered rocks. Alede tightened her grip on the Elf's waist as soon as her feet touched the ground, preventing him from stumbling forward. Then ducking under his arm, she took his weight on her shoulder.  
  
His breath hissed through his teeth as his ribs came in contact with her side and she remembered seeing a horrid purple bruise on his chest.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said, glancing up at him in concern. His eyes were closed and his face was drawn with pain and exhaustion. His skin was deathly pale beneath the gray scum of the necromancer's powder. She was aware of cold wind tossing the corners of her cloak around his bare feet. They'd flown into an early autumn snowstorm as they'd gone northward and snow was falling here at her home. "We need to get inside, before you freeze," she said, gently pulling him.  
  
He took a few limping steps forward. Alede pushed open the heavy door of the old tower house and breathed a sigh once they had stepped into the dark interior. It was cold, but at least they were out of the wind. She kicked the door shut behind her and commanded her staff to give them a light. There were no windows on the ground floor of the tower house. Its solid stone walls rose twenty feet to the arched stone ceiling. Around the inside of the wall, a staircase circled up to a tiny trap door.  
  
Alede paused, and felt the Elf stagger against her. In truth he was lighter than a man of the same height would have been. So she was able to bear his weight, though not easily. Squinting in the gloom she looked across at the immense oven. She always laid a fire in the vast hearth before leaving her home. But occasionally her father overnighted here and he usually forgot that necessity.  
  
Seeing logs in the cavernous oven, she pointed her staff at it and shouted, "Conflagrea!" The wood burst into flame, providing ample light in the circular room.  
  
She tightened her grip on the Elf more securely and headed toward the steps. "Do you think you can manage more stairs?"  
  
His head came up and his impossibly dark eyes opened. He glanced up at the many steps and shuddered.  
  
"If I must," he answered her. Alede was struck by the soft velvet tones of his voice. He bowed his head again and closed his eyes.  
  
"The upper room is warmer," she explained as they slowly limped up the stairs. She pressed him as close to the wall as she could, since the stone steps had no rail. "There's a bed and a fireplace and windows. I'll need as much light as possible to tend your wounds."  
  
He did not answer and she concentrated on getting him safely up the winding stairs. She heaved the trap door open and they came out into the upper tower room. It was brightly lit with snow falling heavily about the two windows. That fireplace was laid too and another command from her staff brought it roaring to life.  
  
Alede deposited the Elf in a chair near the fire and then ran to the cupboard. A spell kept away the dust and damp, so the two wool blankets she pulled out still smelled sweetly of summer. Mice too, could not enter the tower house, so she knew her stores of grain, fruits and dried meat in the kitchen would still be good.  
  
She tossed the older of the blankets over the bedcovering. Her work with the Elf's wounds would likely be messy and she still had to wash the necromancer's powder from him.  
  
Helping him out of the chair, she gently took him over to the bed. He sank onto it with a painful sigh. As Alede tucked both her cloak and the other blanket around him, he opened his eyes again.  
  
"Who are you?" he whispered.  
  
"My name is Alede. I am both a wizardess and a healer." She straighten up. "I live here in the winter, but no one knows of this place. You are safe and I will cause you no harm."  
  
He nodded, "I know that. I saw it in your eyes when you leaned over me in the dungeon. You have a kind soul."  
  
Startled, Alede hesitated, but the Elf had closed his eyes again. She turned back toward the trap door. "I must gather more wood and bring up some water. Rest and I'll be back in a moment."  
  
Alede bolted swiftly down the steps. She went to the well in the center of the floor first and drew up two buckets of water, pouring them into iron kettles. The first she placed on the crane in the oven, the second she dragged back up the stairs and placed in the fireplace there. Dipping out a cup of water, she took it to the Elf and gently lifted his head. He drank all that she gave him.  
  
Once down stairs again, she brought more wood in from outside, remembering at the last moment to gather her ragwort lashings and bring them in to dry on the trestle table.  
  
After she had enough wood, she bolted the heavy bars across the massive door. No one would be disturbing them. Not even Sildair could get in, even if he could find them.  
  
She hurried around while the water came to a boil and placed bricks in the fireplace. Once heated, she would wrap the bricks in cloth and put them into the bed with him. Opening one of the cabinets she pulled out her ointment, a cake of soap and her father's strongest whiskey. Bundling all the ingredients together she made her way back up the steps, a basket in one hand and the hot kettle in the other.  
  
The Elf turned his head toward her as she dragged the chair to the side of the bed.  
  
"Your friend Gimli told me your name, but I have forgotten," she said as she poured the hot water into a bowl.  
  
"Legolas," he whispered. "Is Gimli..."  
  
"He is well. He will wait for you at Helm's Deep. I'll take you there once you have healed."  
  
"I was afraid for him…" His voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it still sent a thrill through her. It had been too long since she had spent time with the Elves, and none so young and appealing as this one.  
  
"I chanced upon Gimli in Fanghorn. His only concern was finding you." Carefully wrapping up two of the bricks, she placed one at his feet and the other on the far side of his chest.  
  
"Thank you," he said and a shiver passed through his lithe frame. "I thought never to feel warmth again."  
  
"I'll replace them as they cool," she promised. "But now I must tend your wounds. I am most worried about the bruise on your chest. What did they do?"  
  
"A mallet," he whispered. "I would not give Sildair the information that he wanted, so they beat me with a mallet."  
  
Alede winched and pressed her hands to her mouth for a moment, wishing she had not asked. But she knew that hiding from the hideous truth would not help.  
  
"What information did he want?" she asked, pushing aside the blankets on his chest. "I thought his only purpose was to turn you into…" She left it unsaid. There was something blasphemous about talking to an Elf about Orcs.  
  
"He wanted to know about the Dark Lord's Ring."  
  
Alede paused in her gentle probing of the bruise. Had the book contained instructions on how to forge a ring of power? Just how evil had Sildair become? "I should have killed him," she whispered furiously.  
  
Legolas opened his eyes, surprised at her angry tone, but they soon slipped shut again. Alede returned her attention to the wound. She would ask questions later, when he was stronger.  
  
And Sildair… she would deal with him later also.  
  
While the bruise obviously gave Legolas great pain, it was not as serious as she had feared. The bones were cracked, but not broken through. There was no danger to his lungs.  
  
The wounds on his legs received her attention next. Three wounds were from arrows and she guessed that they had been used to subdue their prisoner. One still had the arrow embedded in it, the shaft broken off at the skin. The head was buried deep inside his thigh. The wounds had festered but there were no signs of the blood poisoning that she often saw with such wounds. Though she tried to be as gentle as possible, Legolas was gripping the bedclothes in agony by the time she got the arrow out.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she said, nearly sobbing with guilt as she wiped the sweat from him face.  
  
His eyes were closed tightly, but he nodded to her and his hand sought hers. She clasped it tightly and stroked his forehead until he relaxed a little.  
  
"I need to wash your wounds," she said shakily. "And some of them need to be sewn closed. I'm sorry to cause you pain…"  
  
He released her hand and nodded again. "Continue."  
  
She gave him another drink of water before washing his wounds with a solution of hot water and whiskey. His fingers griped the loose fabric of her tunic as she worked, but he did not restrain her. She packed the wounds with ointment and the smell of marigold and yarrow filled the room, momentarily blocking out the unpleasant smell of necromancer's powder.  
  
He passed out as she began to stitch the wounds on his leg closed.  
  
His unconsciousness was almost a blessing as she moved on to the other injuries. None were as severe but there were so many and of such variety that it made her sick to think what they had done to him. She started at his face and washed the necromancer's powder from his fair features. His skin was raw and painful looking, but it would heal. She treated the burns and blisters the powder had caused around his finely shaped mouth.  
  
Methodically, she worked her way down his body, washing his skin and treating the wounds and burns as she came to them.  
  
She had just gently rolled him onto his side when she discovered the long wheals of a whip on his back. Gasping, her eyes followed the trial of blood and torn skin. His back was well shaped and strongly muscled and to see it ravaged so brought tears to her eyes. The thrashing would have been done to break his spirit. Humiliation was as much a part of their torment as the pain was. And to humiliate someone of such a proud race…  
  
Resolutely, she set her jaw and bathed and tended the wounds while tears leaked down her cheeks. Burning had been too good for those Orks. She should have buried them alive. And as for Saldair…  
  
By the time Alede had pulled heavy woolen socks onto his feet, buttoned him into one of her father's long nightshirts and tucked him into the bed, she was exhausted and sick. The stench of the necromancer's powder had been worse as she'd washed it off. But mostly she was sick from the cruelty he had endured.  
  
Stiffly, she gathered up her bowl of water and walked to the opposite side of the room. A narrow door fit snuggly in the wall. She opened the heavy door into the old-fashioned guard robe. The tiny chamber was extremely cold, but a high window lit it well enough. Wind whistled beneath the lid of the wooden seat. She lifted it and poured the bowl into the hole, watching absently as it fell far down the cliff face. Shivering, she left and pushed the heavy door shut again. It was too cold to get sick in there. She'd have to fight off her nausea.  
  
She made a strong cup of tea and trickled some of it between Legolas' lips. The rest she drank herself. Then she cleaned up the blood soaked rags and built up the fires again. She replaced the warming bricks and rummaged for fruit in the cupboard. Settling once again in the chair beside the bed, she chewed the sweet dried apples and watched over the still form of the Elf.  
  
By midnight Legolas had gone into a fever. Alede was not surprised considering the extent of his wounds but its intensity frightened her. She gave him draught after draught of willow bark, but nothing would bring the fever down. Occasionally he thrashed the bed and even tore one of his wounds open again. Then he would lie so ridged she had to press her head to his chest just to see if his heart still beat.  
  
When dawn finally shown in through the eastern window, Alede was shaking with exhaustion. Her hands were raw from wringing out the cold cloths she'd applied to his face and her eyes ached from hours of squinting in the smoky lantern light. She straightened up slowly from the chair. Hauling firewood up the stairs repeatedly had not done her back any good, but she had used up her jar of ointment during the night.  
  
Stumbling down the steps, she added more wood to the oven fire and pulled the tiny caldron that she'd set to boil out of the flames. The dried meat had produced a passable broth which she poured into a cup, gathered up another jar of ointment and dragged her weary feet back up the stairs.  
  
Setting her things down beside the bed, she felt Legolas's forehead automatically. It was a moment before she realized that it was cool.  
  
Too cool. After the burning fever of the night before, this was alarming.  
  
"Legolas?" She felt his chest and then laid her head on it. He still breathed, but his skin was cold to the touch. Hastily she brought bricks from the fire and placed them beside him and then carefully trickled the hot broth between his lips.  
  
For two days and two nights he did not move and his skin was cold as frost. Alede did not sleep for fear he would die if she closed her eyes. Several times as she gazed at his pale face she thought he had died. But then she'd press her ear to his chest and hear the faint beating of his heart. She kept the fire roaring and chaffed his limbs, piling as many blankets on the bed as she could, but he still remained cold and unmoving.  
  
Finally, in the darkest part of the night, Alede knew she could do no more. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she held Legolas' hand in hers.  
  
"I don't know what else to do," she sobbed. Fatigue had robbed her of all hope. Over and over thoughts of the black book had entered her mind. If she'd only kept it, there might have been a cure for what ever ailed him. Though in truth she did not know if he was afflicted with a spell or merely some evil sickness caused by Sildair.  
  
Her fingertips touched his brow, slipped down the side of his face and traced the outline of his mouth. The burns had healed. Even the awful wounds on his legs were beginning to heal. But his eyes remained shut and his face was still as stone. He looked more like a statue than a living being.  
  
"I'm so sorry. I've failed you after all," she whispered, tears trickling down her face. He was so beautiful; her heart would break if he died. Knowing that she was completely spent, Alede tossed her outer garments to the floor and crawled into the bed beside him. Wrapping her arms and legs over his cold body she fell into an exhausted sleep. 


	5. Awakenings

****A/N: I'm posting Chap. 5 a little early. This is for Jocelyn and K who have expressed some concern for Legolas ;) Reviews just encourage me! Special thanks to AJ Matthews and Analorien or their continued support with each chapter. (It means so much!!!) And thanks to EVERYONE who has posted a review. Your comments make my day! Thanks for reading. ~Nebride****  
  
****  
  
Legolas slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was in a small circular room, with hewn walls of stone. Above him timbers arched gracefully up to what was probably a slate roof. Light shown in a window to his right, but it was the cold, blue light of a snowy day. A fire burned low in the hearth of a simple fireplace. A kettle steamed above the coals.  
  
He lay in a soft bed, the feather mattress cradling him and warm blankets were pulled up to his chin. He recalled coming here… vaguely. He remembered the girl Alede, tending his wounds and telling him that Gimli was all right and that he, himself was safe. But he remembered little else.  
  
He certainly didn't remember her climbing into bed with him. But there was no denying her presence. Her limbs were wound around his and he basked in the warmth of her body.  
  
He turned his head to look at her more carefully. She was pretty in a sweet, country sort of way and fairly young. Her dark golden hair was pulled back in a long braid, but tendrils had escaped and curled about her face. Long lashes brushed her cheeks as she slept, but did not hide the dark shadows of fatigue beneath her eyes. Freckles spattered her nose and a smudge of soot marred her cheek.  
  
Wanting to get up and explore this place he'd found himself in with out waking her, Legolas tried to roll away. But her head was lying on his hair and he found that just moving his arm was wearisome. It also awoke all sorts of aches, including a sharp pain in his chest and a greasy, stinging sensation on his skin.  
  
It was then that he remembered the full horror of Orthanc's dungeon and a shudder passed through him.  
  
So close… he'd come so close to loosing all that he was, all that he respected about himself. He closed his eyes, seeing once again the foul wizard leaning over him greedily. He'd wanted everything. He'd wanted Legolas' very soul. The pain had been almost immaterial compared with the greed and avarice of the wizard. It had sickened Legolas like nothing ever had.  
  
He shuddered again. In the past he'd always detested Orcs, despised them as traitorous filth. They were the lowest, most disgusting of life forms. But beneath the hatred that all Elves felt for them was also fear. The foul creatures had once been Elves. And deep in every Elf's mind, was the fear that they too might suffer the same fate.  
  
As his thoughts turned grim, the pain in his limbs increased along with a cold numbness. How easy it would be to give into the cold, into oblivion and think no more.  
  
But a sound close to his ear suddenly brought him out of his misery. Beside him the girl laughed softly in her sleep. The sound mocked his pain and Legolas opened his eyes to see what could possibly be humorous.  
  
Turning his head slightly, he saw that one strand of his hair tickled her chin, causing her to smile in her sleep. A thin shaft of sunlight pierced the clouds and fell through the window, shining on her face. As he watched, she awoke. She blinked groggily. The sunlight fell across her eyes, illuminating the brilliant green orbs.  
  
Her eyes are the color of new leaves, he thought. He was reminded of springtime in Mirkwood, of sun on the trees and the new hope for the season ahead. Suddenly his spirits lifted as he gazed into those emerald depths and the shadows in his mind retreated.  
  
"Good morning," he said softly.  
  
It seemed to take her a full moment to realize that he was actually speaking to her.  
  
"You're awake," she said a smile of joy and relief on her lips.  
  
Another moment passed and she seemed to realize where she was. Hastily she tried to untangle herself from him.  
  
"I'd assist you," Legolas offered. "But you're laying on my hair."  
  
Blushing a deep scarlet, Alede finally stumbled from the bed. "My apologies," she stammered quickly pushing unruly hair from her face and snatching up her cloak.  
  
Legolas couldn't help but be amused by her obvious embarrassment. Humans were far more prudish than Elves.  
  
"Do not apologize lady. I am grateful for your warmth. I have felt cold for many days…" He broke off as once again his thoughts turned to the freezing malice of the dark wizard.  
  
Alede rounded the bed and sat down beside him. Concern quickly replaced embarrassment as she took one of his hands. "Do not let your mind dwell on that place," she said, apparently seeing his thoughts written on his face. "Wait until you are stronger."  
  
He looked up at her, wondering if he could ever gain back strength, so weary did his limbs feel.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"Weaker than I have ever felt in my life."  
  
She nodded. "That is to be expected, considering your wounds. And for two days your body went cold. I could not warm you. I…" she hesitated. "I assume that is not normal for your people? I confess I have not treated many elves. I do not know the ways of their healing."  
  
Legolas' mind had wandered, thinking back to the cold, dark dungeon. He blinked at her question, "No, no that is not normal. How long was I… unconscious?"  
  
"Two, no three days. I wonder," her brow furrowed in worry. "Perhaps I should not have destroyed that book. Sildair must have cursed you. If I had kept it, I might have found a cure sooner. I…"  
  
Legolas heard no more of her words. In his mind he once again saw the wizard holding out the black book, shouting evil sounding words.  
  
*Nuzka a' bleniz…*  
  
A shudder passed through him. He could feel the warm bed around him, but cold invaded his thoughts, his very soul. He shivered again violently, trying to block the dark wizard's face from his mind.  
  
*…kallumbul te wathu…*  
  
He opened him mouth to cry out, but only a small sound escaped.  
  
"Alede…"  
  
Then suddenly she was there, her hands cupped on either side of his face and the evil words were drowned out by her voice.  
  
"You are safe! Legolas! No dark magic can harm you here. You are safe!"  
  
He vaguely felt her smear something on his upper lip and the scent of lavender filled his mind, breaking through the fog of cold.  
  
"Noctien ala comfortia"  
  
He didn't know the meaning of her words, but they were peacefully spoken and he calmed.  
  
Alede passed her hand gently across his eyes, "Oltha," she said.  
  
He knew that word… dream. And his consciousness drifted.  
  
****  
  
Alede looked down on Legolas with concern. Fortunately she'd had the sleeping oil in the room, though she hadn't had to use the spell on him before. At least he was sleeping normally. His twilight colored eyes were open but unfocused in the waking dreams that was the manner of Elves.  
  
Holding his limp hand up to her cheek, she was relieved that he was still warm. She tucked his arm beneath the blankets again. It was obvious that Sildair had used a spell of some sort on him and her mention of the black book had triggered Legolas' memories. She was furious with Sildair. She had been a fool to let him live. But she had never slain anyone before, let alone one of her own people.  
  
I suppose I may hope that he broke his neck when I flung him out of Orthanc, she thought bitterly.  
  
Casting one more worried look at Legolas, she got up to tend the fire and to heat water to wash her hair.  
  
****  
  
When Legolas woke, his head felt clear again. The light drifting in the windows looked like late afternoon. Alede stood absently near the fire re- braiding her long hair. She turned when he stirred.  
  
"Hello," she said crossing over to him and helping him to sit up.  
  
He grimaced with pain.  
  
"A broken rib," she explained as she plumped a pillow behind his back. "Move carefully. It will heal in time."  
  
"You put a spell on me, didn't you, to make me sleep?"  
  
"Yes, just a sleeping spell. Whatever spell Sildair placed on you has passed. But the memory of it has not." She tucked the blankets around him. "You'll need to guard your thoughts until you are stronger."  
  
"If I get stronger," Legolas said with disgust.  
  
"You will heal," she said with a confidence that comforted him. "I do not think dark magic will not fool you again so easily. You are safe and I will prepare safeguards for you."  
  
"Safeguards?" he asked. "You must be a wizardess of great power if you can protect me against him and put me into a sleep when ever you choose."  
  
"Well," she got up, a tiny smile of amusement on her face.  
  
Legolas supposed he had sounded like a petulant child.  
  
"I gave you the sleeping spell," she continued. "…to sooth your fears. I'm sorry if I offended you." When he shook his head she went on. "I am primarily a healer. My powers are mixed with green magic, which the White Council did not approve of."  
  
"Green magic?" Did she mean the simple magic performed by village wise women, Legolas wondered.  
  
"Some call it witch craft," she explained. "It is the art of incantations and the natural magic of plants and herbs. I use it in all my healing. The horse you saw was also green magic. But the wizards scorn it." She shrugged. "I'm afraid I'm not very skilled in any kind of magic. I know bits of this and that. I took Sildair mainly by surprise and I destroyed his book, what ever it was. Obviously its where most of his power came from."  
  
Legolas leaned his head back against the headboard. "You are very brave then. For he would have killed you, if he'd had the chance. Who is he, anyway?"  
  
A shadow passed over her fair face and she sat down again. "He was a student of Saruman's, as was I. We trained together at Orthanc. He, like myself were both born of wizards here in Middle Earth. My father is Radagast the Brown. I do not know who Sildair's father was. Thought I always suspected it was Saruman. It was not a subject that we spoke of. The Council did not speak of… personal things." She shrugged at her lack of knowledge. "We were friends once. But Sildair… he always desired power…" She trailed off unhappily and rose to tend the fire.  
  
Legolas starred at the ceiling.  
  
Power. That was the root of all problems of Middle Earth. Perhaps he had delayed his leaving too long. Should he head for the West and pass over as so many of his people had done? He would be safe in the Undying Lands.  
  
But there was so much of Middle Earth that he wanted to see. And there was his promise to Gimli. His mind drifted as his gaze wandered around the small room. Finally the intricate pattern of the timbers overhead caught his curiosity, distracting him from thoughts of the West.  
  
"What is this place?" he asked.  
  
Alede brought him a cup of strong tea. "It was a ruined tower house when I discovered it. It is quite small, barely enough room for one family. But the walls are sound and there are raspberry brambles all around it. In the summer, the woods and meadows are filled with bees. The family who built this place probably made their living trading honey. And its design would have kept them safe from Orcs."  
  
"The timbers of the ceiling are Elvish work and I see runes carved in them."  
  
Alede nodded, "From Mirkwood, I imagine. We are within sight of it."  
  
Legolas sat up further with difficulty. "We are? I would wish to see my home again, for it is long since I journeyed there."  
  
Because he was looking out the window, he missed the expression of alarm on Alede's face.  
  
***  
  
Mirkwood.  
  
Alede cringed at the very name. Her memories of that place were not fond. And she had not realized until just now who her guest was. Excusing herself, she went down the steps to the kitchen and busied herself there.  
  
She had realized of course that Legolas was the same Elf who had been one of the nine companions of the Ring. But she had forgotten his origin, for Legolas was a common name among the Elves. Green leaf, it meant in the common tongue.  
  
King Thranduil of Mirkwood had a young son by the name of Legolas and it was obviously the prince who rested in her upper chamber. His resemblance to the Queen was unmistakable, now that she looked for it.  
  
Alede sighed and bowed her head over the loaf of bread she cut. It had been nearly three hundred years since she'd been to Mirkwood. Summoned there to tend the Queen as the lady lay near death, Alede had barely stepped into the room when the woman had died. King Thranduil had flown into a rage, blaming the young wizardess, despite the Queen's long illness. Alede had spent three miserable days in the dungeons hoping the King would relent. It had not been her fault. Thranduil had acted out of grief and desperation, not wisdom.  
  
How much had Thranduil told his son, she wondered? Obviously Legolas did not recognize her name and she had not seen him there during her brief visit to the Queen's chambers. She certainly would have remembered his fair face.  
  
She longed to ask Legolas if they had ever determined why his mother had died. Her illness had been a mystery. Elves did not die easily and never from illness. But she knew her memory of the dungeon would keep her silent. She had used magic to escape finally when she tired of waiting on the King's mercy. To this day she was considered an outlaw in the kingdom of Mirkwood. Perhaps it was better that Legolas did not connect her with that event, though she hated to deceive him.  
  
Walking back up the steps, she brought Legolas a simple meal of bread and dried apples. After he was done and she took away the plate, she asked him if there was anything else she could get for him.  
  
"Yes," he said rubbing a hand over his sticky arm. "A bath."  
  
Alede hid her smile and went to fill the kettles. It had been long since she'd dwelt in the company of Elves. But she had not forgotten their fastidiousness. They were not like men, for which she was grateful.  
  
****  
  
****A/N: Looks like this is going to turn into a mushy romance, doesn't it? Don't be to sure! My writing sometimes has a twist to it. *winks and smiles* Look for Chap. 6 on Friday. ~Nebride**** 


	6. Of Healing

Legolas leaned back carefully in the tub. Alede had draped a towel over the edge to cushion his back, so the pressure was not too painful. The tub was small, nothing to compare with the sunken stone bath that graced his rooms in Mirkwood. He couldn't stretch out his legs, but at least they weren't up under his chin either.  
  
One thing to be thankful for.  
  
He sighed softly and closed his eyes.  
  
By Elbereth, he hurt. He hurt all over. And his skin was raw from the scrubbing he'd given himself. But at least the necromancer's powder was completely gone now, as well as the burning, sticky sensation he'd woke up with.  
  
The necromancer's powder.  
  
Darkness filled his mind as his memories skittered around the edge of his imprisonment. What they had done to him.  
  
He shivered and forced his eyes open. His gaze fell on the red, angry wounds around his wrists. There were more around his ankles, though he couldn't see them beneath the water. But he felt them. He remembered the feeling as the Orcs had clamped the irons on him and he'd known he was good and caught then. He'd almost escaped them twice before that. But there had been so many of them.  
  
Not as many as there had been in the beginning, he reminded himself. He'd slipped their grasp twice and used any weapon that had come to hand. He'd killed twelve that he could remember, before they'd stilled him with iron.  
  
He'd nearly stripped his skin off trying to slip the iron bands.  
  
Beside him, a log fell in the fireplace sending up a shower of sparks. Legolas rubbed his forehead. He'd need to go carefully with his memories or he'd sink into melancholy.  
  
Think of the present, he told himself. 'Alede is right. I must not dwell on this while I am recovering.' Time enough to face his demons when he could walk and pull a bow again.  
  
'At least I'm warm.' He'd been cold so long all of his muscles were tight and knotted. But the warmth was finally starting to soak into his bones. Not only was the water incredibly hot, but he was mere inches from the fire. Alede had placed a wooden screen around the tub to keep the heat in. He was thankful for her consideration.  
  
He was thankful for many things. He could hear his rescuer moving around the room as she put clean linens on the bed.  
  
"Legolas, may I come in and check the fire?" Her voice was hesitant outside the screen.  
  
"Yes, of course."  
  
She passed him carefully. There wasn't much room. Alede set the kettle on the hearth. She added wood to the fire and then walked around behind him.  
  
"Shall I wash your back and your hair?" she asked sounding a little shy.  
  
Legolas hid a smile at what he perceived as her human prudishness. His nakedness bothered him not at all. But he did feel foolish having her tend him like this. Guilt had assailed him while he'd watched her heat and carry kettle after kettle of water to the tub, but she'd insisted that the water be almost scalding and he was grateful that she had filled it so full it came well up to his chest.  
  
"Thank you," he finally said. "I hadn't managed that yet."  
  
She knelt on the floor behind him. "Its hard to wash your hair in this little tub, especially when your hurt." She reached for the little cake of soap and worked up lather.  
  
"Lean forward a bit," she said. Her hands were incredibly gentle as she slid the soap over his back. Carefully she worked it around his wounds. "The cloth?" she asked.  
  
Legolas opened his eyes again. The cloth he'd used to rinse with had ended up somewhere down around his feet. He groped in the water for it and handed it to her over his shoulder.  
  
She rinsed his back off and set the cloth on the hearth where it hissed and steamed softly. Then with delicate movements she untied the knots on his braids, and finally combed her fingers through them until his hair lay smooth. He noticed that her fingers trembled slightly as she slid them through his hair, and wondered why.  
  
As she slowly poured warm water over his scalp and he felt it trickling down his back, he closed his eyes. And when her gentle fingers began massaging soap into his hair, Legolas no longer cared how foolish this might seem. Leaning back, he sighed and for the first time in days relaxed completely.  
  
"The last time someone washed my hair," he said quietly. "I was but a child and my mother was attempting to bathe my older brother and I. But Franduil insisted on drowning me in the tub when she wasn't looking."  
  
Alede chuckled softly behind him.  
  
"We had been down to the river," he continued, lulled by her gentle touch. "Franduil had been teasing me, as older brothers do. I had finally had enough of his games and pushed him into a muddy fen. Unfortunately, he pulled me in with him. After a long muddy battle, we went home reeking of pond slime with waterweeds tangled in our hair. Our mother was scandalized and dunked us both in the tub. But whenever she turned to put the soap on the ledge, he would push my head under. Franduil was twice my height and weight at that time, so I could little defend myself. The next time Mother turned, I used both my arms to splash him. The resulting tidal wave drenched both Franduil and my mother and nearly emptied the tub. But since he had been causing so much mischief he was blamed for it and not me."  
  
Alede laughed. "It must have been a much bigger bath than this if you could create a tidal wave. Did you ever confess?"  
  
He nodded "Many years later. But Mother had already guessed it by then." He fell silent then, thinking of her. She had been a lovely woman and had understood Legolas' restless discontent with Mirkwood. He'd longed for adventure, new sights and change, while his father had grown more set in his ways. As he grew older Legolas and his father had more and more conflicts. His mother had often been the buffer between the King and his rebellious son.  
  
"I'm sorry about your mother," Alede said behind him. And he did not think to wonder why her voice trembled, but closed his eyes again, relaxing into her touch.  
  
****  
  
"Are you warm enough," Alede asked pulling the blanket up around his shoulders more. She'd placed the chair beside the fire and seated him there.  
  
Legolas nodded sleepily, "Yes, thank you."  
  
Alede stood behind him and combed out his damp hair. She still couldn't believe he was allowing her to touch him like this. His hair was like silk and she'd just finished massaging liniment into his stiff shoulders. His skin was warm and smooth beneath her fingers. Alede knew without a doubt that she could easily become smitten with him. If his fair face had not been enough, his kind gentle manner was. And she had a partiality for Elves that dated from her childhood.  
  
Forcing her mind away from such thoughts, Alede considered Legolas' wounds. He could not put any weight on his right leg, because of the arrow wounds. She suspected that an arrow had chipped the bone, making it extremely painful. But in general all of his wounds were healing well and Sildair's freezing spell had completely left him. Now her biggest concern was for his spirits. She'd tended warriors enough to know that nightmares could fell them as easily as blows. And Elves felt emotions strongly, though they often hid it from those not of their race.  
  
Leaving him by the fire, so that his hair would dry, she gathered up the linens she'd stripped from the bed and dunked them in the left over bath water. As she bent over the tub, she tried to distract him from his thoughts.  
  
"I have never known a dwarf to ride horseback," she said scrubbing the linens vigorously. "I have known some who would ride ponies, but never a horse. Your friend Gimli appears to be quite unusual."  
  
Legolas' head came up and a slight smile touched his lips. "Gimli was on Arod?"  
  
"I know not the horse's name, but he was tall with bright eyes and long limbs and much too tall for a Dwarf to ride."  
  
Legolas' grin widened and Alede groaned inwardly. He had slight dimples when he smiled, a boyish attribute that was incredibly charming in one of the Elder race. *  
  
"Gimli often said that if it were not for me, he would have nothing to do with horses. He claims his feet love the ground too much. Many a journey I have spent with him clutching my back for fear of what he says are treacherous beasts. Yet now, you tell me that he has overcome his fear and ridden alone. I am pleased."  
  
"He was very concerned for you. Your friendship must be very great that he would overcome his own nature for your sake."  
  
Legolas nodded, "I know not if all dwarves are as stout hearted as my friend. But he is truly a wonder to me. I love him as a brother." Legolas fell into thoughtful silence.  
  
Alede finished her washing and by the time she had the tub refilled for her own bath, Legolas was half asleep by the fire. She roused him and helped him back into bed.  
  
She sat well up into the night after her bath, watching him sleep. His eyes were open and softly unfocused. But often his brow furrowed as he struggled with nightmares.  
  
Alede struggled too, telling her heart that it was a treacherous path it had chosen. For Elves rarely strayed outside their own race in matters of love. She would do well to concern herself with his wounds and nothing else.  
  
****  
  
As the days passed, Legolas' wounds healed well and with them his spirits. Alede often distracted him from his immobility by begging for tales of his adventures. She had heard all the songs and stories about the War of the Ring, but to hear it told first hand was a delight.  
  
In turn she told him of her own wanderings. She had traveled much of Middle Earth, going from one village to the next, wherever her healing skills were needed.  
  
"I love birthing babies the most," she said with a soft light in her eyes. "There is much joy in bringing a new life, a new hope into the world."  
  
From time to time she traveled with Rangers, though she had never met the famous Aragorn.  
  
"I have passable skills with a light sword and have never been bested at quarter staff," she told him one day. "Though, when I am traveling alone I prefer to avoid confrontations."  
  
"You did quite well in your confrontation with the Orcs," Legolas praised.  
  
She waved a hand dismissively, "Orcs are no match for a good fire spell."  
  
****  
  
By the fifth day after his awakening, Alede knew she could no longer keep him contained to the upper floor, much less bed. Reluctantly she decided that he could come downstairs. He still could not put any significant weight on his right leg, but they'd perfected a limping/hop for getting him around the room. She supposed they could try it on the stairs as well.  
  
"The sun is well up this morning," Legolas pointed out. He had just finished re-braiding his hair after a morning bath and was still wrapped in only a blanket. He sat beside the fire and looked out the window hungrily. "If the weather holds, the snow will be melted soon."  
  
"You're not going outside," Alede said firmly, knowing full well where this conversation was headed.  
  
"I did not say that I was," he shot back. But Alede saw the determined look on his face and the mischievous twinkle in his eye. She sighed. She knew it would not be long before he'd gotten another concession out of her.  
  
"You are the most troublesome patient I have ever had," she grumbled in mock anger.  
  
Legolas grinned up at her from his position on the chair.  
  
"And I thought I had been a model of equanimity," he said innocently.  
  
Alede laughed and laid a bundle of clothes out on the bed. They were her father's things, a long tunic and loose fitting leggings very similar in shape to what Legolas normally wore but not as well made. They were the deep chestnut color of her father's rank. Her own clothing was of dark green and she'd long since shed the cumbersome wizard's robes that went over it.  
  
"Let me look at your wounds," she said.  
  
Legolas turned, placing his back to the window so she'd have better light. Long practice told him that she'd start with his back.  
  
Alede swept the curtain of his hair aside and pressed the blanket down to his waist. She drew her fingers over the fading scars marveling at his healing abilities. The wound had healed many times faster than a man's. In a month, there would not even be a scar.  
  
Tapping his shoulder to indicate that he should turn around, she knelt at his feet and examined his thigh where the arrows had wounded him. The wounds had healed well on the surface. But the muscle and bone still troubled him where the arrows had sunk deep.  
  
"At least the stitches may come out," she remarked reaching for a tiny knife.  
  
"That is a relief," he answered. "They have been causing me great annoyance."  
  
"Hmm. I can see where you have been scratching them. I thought you promised to leave them alone?" she fixed him with a disapproving eye.  
  
"Alede," he gave her the same disapproving look. "Allow me to sew your leg together and we'll see just how much you scratch at the wound."  
  
She chuckled, "No thank you," and began to carefully slit the tiny threads.  
  
"Ai!" Legolas cried suddenly.  
  
Alede jumped and the knife clattered to the floor.  
  
"Did I cut you?" she asked in alarm.  
  
"No," he said grinning. "But the look on your face was so grave, I could not resist."  
  
She tried to scowl at him, but failed and laughed instead. Those cursed dimples, she thought. He could get away with anything!  
  
Retrieving her knife, she threatened him with it. "Now hold still, or I will cut you."  
  
She finished pulling the stitches without any more incident, though she was conscious of Legolas watching her the whole time. Helping him over to the bed, she turned her back while he dressed and added more logs to the fire. As he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots, she casually walked to the other side of it. Quietly slipping a pillow from under the blankets, she leaned over and swatted him hard on the shoulder with it.  
  
Legolas gave a cry of surprised amusement and twisted around to grab her. Alede tried to skip out of the way, but his long fingers closed around her wrist and jerked her onto the bed. She squealed as he pried the pillow from her hand and hit her in turn. They were soon laughing and wrestling on the bed.  
  
"No fair," Alede cried when she was hit again. "I have to be careful of your wounds!"  
  
"Must I remind you who started this war?" Legolas asked grinning.  
  
"No!" and she snatched the pillow from him.  
  
They finally stopped when the corner of the pillow burst open and feathers fell on them like snow.  
  
Legolas collapsed on his back. "I can not believe that this winded me," he said breathing hard, but he was smiling.  
  
Alede was breathing hard also and she too, was smiling.  
  
"You'll gain your strength back. You've already healed many times faster than a man would. Be patient."  
  
Legolas blew a feather off of his chin and then turned to her. Patting the bed he indicated that she should lie beside him.  
  
Alede sank gratefully onto the mattress and listened to the sound of their breathing. She had never known such happiness. Did she dare allow herself to care for him? Whether she dared it or not, Alede suspected that her traitorous heart would have its own way.  
  
****  
  
To everyone who has posted reviews, thank you! It means so much! Chapter 7 will be up next weekend. 


	7. Regret

"You'll never hit anything holding the bow like that."  
  
Alede gasped. The arrow slipped from her fingers and clattered to the rocky ground. The rabbit she had so carefully stalked went bounding away.  
  
"You startled me," she said as she whirled around, though she already knew who it was.  
  
Legolas arched a fine brow at her. "Did I?" but his lips curled in a smile of quiet amusement.  
  
She frowned at him in mock anger. "You find it amusing that you can startle me, don't you?"  
  
He grinned at her and she couldn't help but smile back at him. In the last several days Legolas had rapidly regained his strength. His limp was improving and he'd succeeded in making it down the steps alone two days ago.  
  
"You've frightened our dinner away," she said picking up the arrow.  
  
"You never would have hit it anyway," he retorted easily. His sense of humor was wry, sometimes very subtle and sometimes very direct. Alede found it irresistible though it was often as not at her own expense.  
  
The weather had turned fine, the late autumn sun melting most of the snow. Legolas stood in a clearing, the breeze lifting his hair off of his shoulder. He was dressed again in his own clothes, which she'd mended carefully. She couldn't help but think how regal he looked. Though even in her father's cast offs he'd had that Elvish air of sophistication, which seemed inherent to the race.  
  
Standing straight and tall amongst the aspens, he looked as much a part of the mountains as the trees did. His face was tilted up as he drank in the sun. He dropped his gaze and Alede blushed as he caught her starring at him.  
  
She'd been doing a lot of that lately. Even more embarrassing was the knowledge that Legolas knew why she watched him, though nothing had been said. But while he clearly liked her, it was also clear that he did not return her attraction. And her attraction to him was threatening to drive her mad. He was one of the kindest, most engaging people she'd ever known. That and his astonishingly fair face and mischievous sense of humor were more than she could resist. In the past several days she'd come to care for him far more than she would like.  
  
"Here," he said reaching out a hand. "Hand me the bow and let me try and redeem myself."  
  
Alede cocked her head at his impish grin. "I will not let you go traipsing about the woods, if that's what you're thinking. Your leg is not yet healed enough. Another meal of dried meats will not harm either of us."  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes dramatically. "That is a matter of opinion."  
  
"Oh!" Alede swatted his arm, which only made him grin more.  
  
"I had not intended however to propose a hunt. I thought to show you the proper way to draw a bow."  
  
"Oh, well… thank you," she stammered. "I did learn once. But it has been many years, centuries actually and I suppose I have forgotten the way of it."  
  
"Who taught you?" he asked checking the string.  
  
"Elrond's son Elrohir."  
  
"Indeed?" Legolas walked to the edge of the clearing so they would have more room.  
  
Alede followed him. "When I was very young, a girl of only sixteen my father took me on a pilgrimage to Rivendell. I had shown great interest in the healing arts even then and he asked Lord Elrond to teach me his craft.  
  
"While I was there…" she paused gathering her courage to tell him the rest, since he would undoubtedly find it an ironic tale. "I became quite smitten with Elrohir…" she broke off as Legolas chuckled softly.  
  
"And how did you come by your choice? Elrohir and Elledan are twins. Even to my eye they are barely distinguishable. How did Elrohir win your affections?"  
  
"Well," Alede sat down on a log and watched as Legolas casually examined her arrows, though obviously he was intent upon her story as well. "Elrohir was the merrier of the two and as a young girl I could not appreciate Elledan's gravity. Of course Elrohir was aware of my feelings," she cast a surreptitious glance at Legolas.  
  
Damn Elves and their perceptive abilities, she thought but without rancor.  
  
"He took great delight in teasing me and making me laugh," she continued. "He was also very kind… for of course he did not return my affection." She looked down at her hands, unable to continue. The past situation too closely mirrored the present. She was unaware of Legolas' approach until he stood directly in front of her.  
  
"And who would not be kind to you, Alede?" he asked gently tilting her chin up. "For you have the sweetest of dispositions and no one could help but be flattered by the generosity of your affections."  
  
Alede smiled bravely at him, though tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She had known he did not feel for her what she did. But it was difficult hearing the pity in his voice and knowing that her situation was hopeless. Her emotions were not trivial as they had been when she was a child. Standing up, she brushed the dust from the back of her leggings.  
  
"So," she began, clearing her throat and gesturing toward the bow. "Are you going to correct my faulty stance or not?"  
  
"Alede…"  
  
She looked up at him, seeing the regret and the sorrow in his eyes.  
  
"If I could return what you offer, you know that I would, don't you?"  
  
She dropped her gaze and the tears began to flow despite her effort to hold them back. Legolas made a sound of dismay and tossed the bow to the ground. Taking a step forward he enfolded Alede in his embrace, holding her close as she sobbed against his chest.  
  
***  
  
Legolas sat at the trestle table and watched as Alede prepared their evening meal. There had been no archery lesson after all that afternoon. Once Alede had regained her composure, she had pulled away from him and made for the tower house. He'd followed her an hour later after shooting too squirrels. They were not his favorite meat, but he felt he owed her something.  
  
Actually, he thought, I owe her much. She'd saved more than just his life. She'd saved his sanity. Just as she had predicted, the demons of his memory had haunted him most when he was immobile. But Alede had countered his fears with logic, his melancholy with comfort, and the one fit of temper he'd shown with bland indifference.  
  
Two days ago, overcome by frustration he had hopelessly expressed his desire to be done with Middle Earth and pass over into the West. She had knelt in front of him and fixed him with her vivid green eyes.  
  
"This fear will be with you a long time," she had said. "You can either live with it here or you can live with it in the West. But the damage done to your spirit will follow you to the West if you run from it. If instead you choose to fight it, then you may do so with the knowledge that some day you may exact revenge for what was done to you. Therefore bringing some measure of healing to yourself."  
  
Then she'd told him that she'd prepared a place for him in the sun if he felt strong enough to go outside. She'd left him to limp down the stairs by himself. His feeling of achievement as he'd joined her on a blanket outside the door, surprised him.  
  
Which no doubt had been her plan all along. And realizing that, he'd given in. It would be far simpler to let his mind and his body heal, than to face her persistent will. She would calmly argue with him for eternity before she'd let him sink into melancholy.  
  
His limp had improved dramatically since that conversation.  
  
Watching her now as she cut up tubers to put into the stew, he couldn't help feel guilty. There seemed no way he could repay her or comfort her.  
  
Women often admired him, though he seldom noticed, until it was pointed out to him. He was considered fair even among his own people, but gave little thought to the matter. Now it gave him considerable worry, for he wished not to hurt her.  
  
Had he made a mistake, he wondered?  
  
That first night after he'd begun to mend, he'd awoken from a nightmare to find her curled on the floor in a blanket. He'd coaxed her into bed with him despite her obvious shyness. Had she misinterpreted his gesture? He didn't think so. It would have been foolish for her to sleep on the cold floor. She certainly would have become ill. And their friendly pillow fights and banter had been nothing more than that, just friendly.  
  
He didn't think he'd led her to believe anything else. She was simple taken with him, as she had been Elrohir. Except that she was no longer a girl of sixteen, but a woman with feelings far more complicated than those of a child.  
  
He sighed softly, wishing he knew how to handle her affection. She was an engaging mixture of strength and sweetness, womanly grace and childish playfulness. She alternated between an authoritative confidence when tending his wounds and a maidenly shyness when confronted by his gratitude. If he were looking for romance and considered someone outside his own people, she would tempt him. She had a lovely face. And her habit of wearing men's clothing beneath her wizard's robes had caught his attention more than once. She had a lithe, shapely body that any Elf would notice.  
  
But he was not yet ready to take any lady for his own. Despite Alede's engaging attributes, he was not in love with her.  
  
Now that he'd set his mind on healing, he was more determined than ever to finish his exploration of Middle Earth. He and Gimli still had much to discover as well as much work to be done. Both of them had brought their own people to Gondor to help with its restoration and Legolas was eager to return to his work at Ithilien.  
  
But that did not solve the problem of Alede's heart.  
  
****  
  
Alede finished cutting the late harvest vegetable and dumped them into the pot. Carrying it to the oven, she placed it on its crane and retrieved the tiny caldron she'd had heating on the hearth for the past two days. She set it on the trestle and glanced at Legolas' face.  
  
"Such a grave expression. Does my cooking frighten you so much?" she teased.  
  
Legolas glanced up and gave her a wry smile, shaking his head. "No, I…" his face turned serious once more. "I think that I must leave in a few days, Alede."  
  
Alede's heart froze, though she'd been expecting this. Emptiness filled her, threatening to choke her. She loved him, of that she was certain. Just as certain that she could not have him.  
  
"Alede," Legolas began, his voice thick with regret. "If I stay I will hurt you and if I leave I will hurt you. I know not what to do."  
  
She met his gaze and saw the regret, the guilt there. She also saw a glisten that might be a tear. He dropped his eyes for a moment.  
  
Leaning across the table, she cupped the side of his face, coaxing him look up at her. "No," she said more forcefully than she felt. "I would not have you know regret because of me. You did not ask…" she was still uncomfortable speaking of her feelings, though their conversation this afternoon had erased all doubts about his knowledge of them.  
  
"You did not ask," she said again. "…for my affection. I certainly would not force it on you. Do not feel sorrow or guilt because of me. My… admiration is freely given. I ask nothing in return."  
  
Legolas took her hand, squeezing it momentarily. "You are a beautiful woman Alede. Your soul shines as brightly as the sun and I would not hurt you for anything if I knew how." He kissed the back of her hand before releasing it.  
  
Alede bit her lip to still the tears. Unconsciously she brought her hand close, cradling it in the other, protecting the warmth of his kiss upon her skin. The gesture did not go unnoticed by Legolas and he winched.  
  
Alede saw the look and forced herself to regain her composure.  
  
"When will you leave?" she asked as calmly as she could.  
  
"A couple of days I think."  
  
She nodded and fetched a box down from a shelf, setting it beside the gently steaming caldron on the table.  
  
"Gimli will be pleased to see you," she remarked, though her voice cracked.  
  
Legolas nodded. "I believe he will."  
  
Alede had sent a raven carrying a message for the Dwarf once Legolas had begun to mend. There had been two messages from the Dwarf in reply already.  
  
"Well," she swallowed the lump in her throat. "It is best that I get this finished then." She removed the lid of the tiny cauldron and stepped back as a noxious vapor escaped it.  
  
Coughing slightly and waving a hand to disperse the greenish cloud, Legolas asked, "What is this? Not dinner I hope."  
  
Alede laughed in spite of her aching heart. "No, this is to make a talisman. I promised I would give you a safeguard before you left."  
  
Legolas wrinkled his nose. "Does all magic smell so foul?"  
  
Alede glanced up at the pained expression on his face. He never failed to lift her spirits with his dry humor. "Much of it does, particularly green magic."  
  
"The powder that Sildair used on me…" He broke off, but Alede understood the unspoken question.  
  
"Necromancer's powder is made from dragon eggs. I know not how, for I have not studied its art. Obviously Sildair did, or he found a supply of it in Orthanc still. It is alchemy not green magic. Green magic does not harm."  
  
Legolas nodded. They had tread very carefully on the subjects of his imprisonment. But Alede saw no warning signs in his eyes. He was coming to terms with it well, especially since his body began to heal.  
  
"What is that?" he asked as she pulled out three shining strands of hair from her box of charms and supplies.  
  
"Unicorn hair," she said handing it to him and watched as he ran the silky strands through his fingers.  
  
"It is exquisite," he exclaimed. "Will it be part of the talisman?"  
  
"In a way." She leaned across the table and arranged the strands in his fingers, so he held all three by one end. "This will be the cord that the talisman will hang by. I would put nothing less worthy around your neck."  
  
Legolas glanced down at the shimmering strands in his hand to the scanty supply in her box and started to shake his head. "I would not take something so valuable…"  
  
Alede gave him a mock glare. "Do not argue with me, or I'll send you back to bed!"  
  
Legolas rolled his eyes. "You could try," he said, emphasizing the last word.  
  
"Now quit fidgeting and hold this still," she directed. Swiftly, she braided the three strands of unicorn hair together to form a strong, light cord. Then as Legolas held the ends, she fished out a tiny green bottle from her box. Tying the ends neatly around the neck, she leaned forward and slipped it over Legolas' head.  
  
"There, is that the right length do you think?" she asked.  
  
Legolas looked down. The bottle hung in the middle of his chest, just high enough that his quiver straps would not crush it. The bottle was barely the size of his thumb and very flat. "This will do well," he said. "Though I know not how you will put anything inside it. It is so small. Will this noxious brew go into it?"  
  
"No," Alede assured him as he handed the bottle back. "The potion will only transform the magic. I would not make you wear something so offensive."  
  
"I am relieved." And they both laughed at the tone in his voice.  
  
Alede got up and retrieved several bundles of herbs hanging from a rack, going over in her mind all that she would need. Rosemary and rowan to protect against sorcery, marigold for proof against older magic, lavender for purity and osier to bind the spell. The blood she'd add at the end.  
  
Taking out a small knife, she stabbed it into the table and scratched a circle on its surface. Then she carefully cut three small twigs of each of the herbs and arranged them in a clump inside the circle. Handing the knife to Legolas, she said, "I need six strands of your hair, as long as you can cut them."  
  
His eyebrows went up, but he obliged and handed them over. Alede took them, separating three of them out and placing the other three inside her box. "In case I need to make you a second talisman," she said in answer to his inquisitive glance.  
  
Actually she wanted them to remember him by and for no other reason. But she need not tell him that.  
  
She cut three strands of her own hair and then bound them all together around the little bundle of herbs, murmuring the incantation as she wove them in and out. She tied it off with the osier and then dropped the whole thing into the caldron. The fluid sent up a rush of steam and bubbled and frothed vigorously. Once it calmed down to a gentle greenish simmer, Alede held her hand out across the table and pushed the knife toward him.  
  
Legolas looked puzzled.  
  
"I need you to make a cut across my palm."  
  
"What? No, Alede I can't…"  
  
"Hurry, before it loses its potency."  
  
Legolas looked as if he might protest further but finally took the knife. Alede nodded encouragingly as he hesitated. Grimacing he slid the blade across her hand.  
  
Alede flinched in spite of herself. The wound hurt more than it should and she reminded herself to sharpen the blade once she had time for it. Holding her hand over the caldron, she let three drops fall into it. The liquid stilled and went black as night.  
  
"It is almost finished," she said.  
  
Legolas' brow was still furrowed with disapproval as he got up from the table. He limped over to the cabinet and came back with the jar of yarrow and marigold and a strip of cloth. In the few days that he'd been able to come downstairs he'd learned the whereabouts of most of her possessions. Taking Alede's still bleeding hand, he smeared it liberally with the ointment and bound it. She smiled her thanks and then with the fire tongs carefully pulled out the herb bundle from the caldron.  
  
Legolas' gasp of surprise made her smile. The bundle had shrunk perfectly, barely the width of a blade of grass. She easily slipped it into the tiny green bottle and corked it tightly.  
  
Handing it over to him she said, "This will protect you against most kinds of magic. The spell contains proofs against both sorcery and older types of magic. It also binds my powers to you. If I should die, it will lose some of its potency, though not all."  
  
Legolas' eyes came up to meet hers at those words. Looking at her gravely, he put the silky braid of unicorn hair over his head and slipped the bottle inside his tunic. "You have my thanks, Lady."  
  
Before he could say more, if indeed he intended to say more, Alede rose swiftly and went to tend the stew.  
  
"I think this is ready," she called from across the room. Legolas watched her gravely for a moment before limping over to gather plates and spoons.  
  
****  
  
Legolas lay starring at the flickering shadows on the ceiling. He could not sleep. He was painfully aware of the talisman lying lightly on his chest. It gave him no discomfort other than a brief tingling sensation when he'd first put it on. Then it had warmed and lay softly against his chest.  
  
But it was not the talisman itself that kept him awake, rather Alede's words. 'It binds my powers to you. If I should die, it will loose some of its potency,' she had said.  
  
Her tone haunted his mind over and over again. She was using her own strength, her own powers to protect him. Once again, he found himself in her debt. While she might claim that she asked nothing for her love, he still felt remorse.  
  
Would that I could love her, he thought! She is fair and sweet! But he could not force feelings that he did not have. And it would be a disservice to her if he did. Sighing, he rolled onto his side and looked at her.  
  
She lay with her back to him, hugging the edge of the mattress. She'd always kept carefully to her side of the bed. Since she seemed so shy about sleeping together, Legolas had always been careful to never touch her. But tonight, he needed to touch her, as if her body would assuage his guilt.  
  
Reaching for her, he pulled her close, tucking her small body into the curl of his own. She murmured softly but did not wake. Making the talisman had appeared to have drained her and she slept hard. Legolas nestled his face into the silken mass of her hair and breathed in the scent of her lavender soap. The sound of her soft breathing finally lulled him to sleep.  
  
****  
  
A/N: As always the reviews are much appreciated! I have a favor to ask however… would you mind letting me know which day of the week you're most likely to visit fanfiction.net? I'd like to try and post on the best day for most people. Thanks a lot and thanks for reading!!! :) Nebride 


	8. Revenge

Alede finished tying the ribbon about the three strands of Legolas' hair and put them back in the box. She looked up as he came down the steps. His limp was virtually gone and he walked with the graceful confidence that was so common to all Elves. Though it threatened to break her heart, she knew she could no longer keep him here. She would not cage him. If she held him back with pleas or guilt, he would come to resent her. She would not do that to him or to herself. She could no longer delay the inevitable. He was well enough to travel and certainly well enough to be reunited with his friend Gimli.  
  
"Tomorrow," she forced herself to say, hating the way her voice cracked. Legolas looked up and she noticed signs of fatigue around his eyes. Had he not slept well, she wondered? She herself had slept late, waking to find Legolas restlessly prowling the confines of the upper chamber.  
  
"Tomorrow?" he asked.  
  
"Oh…" she glanced down at the basket and gloves, making sure she had everything. "I… thought that I'd take you to Helm's Deep tomorrow morning."  
  
"Are you certain?" he said quietly.  
  
"If you're not feeling…" but then she stopped. His hesitation was not for himself. And she realized that her own unhappiness was making him feel guilty.  
  
"Yes," she said nodding her head. Though she wondered which one of them she sought to convince. "I'll take you tomorrow." Gathering up her things, she headed toward the door. "Besides, I grow weary of your constant complaints."  
  
Legolas grinned at that, since he'd complained only once or twice.  
  
Alede walked over to him and gave his arm a brief squeeze. "I go to pick some raspberries if there are any left. I'll make some tarts and perhaps we can bring some to Gimli tomorrow. I've never known a dwarf who did not like sweets."  
  
"Or an Elf," Legolas grinned. She'd discovered his liking of sweets early on.  
  
She returned the smile, vowing to not be a source of unhappiness for him any longer. If she could do anything for him, it would be to not cause him grief.  
  
"Promise me you'll give your leg one more day of rest. The raspberry brambles are too hilly for you to follow me."  
  
He gave her a tolerant look for what he'd often termed her 'mothering', but nodded his head. "I intend to put an edge on your knives this morning. How you have managed to cut bread with them, let alone meat, is beyond me."  
  
Alede laughed and on impulse stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then she turned and without a backward glance walked outside.  
  
****  
  
Legolas let the motion of the knife strokes lull him. The blade made a steady grinding sound as he slid it across the wet stone.  
  
Perfect for weary thoughts.  
  
He'd lain awake until the early hours of the morning, wrestling with his guilt and then had woken before dawn. He had come to no real conclusion. He owed his life to Alede. That she loved him only increased the debt. He knew of no way to repay her. Normally, he did not feel responsible for other's emotions. But this was so very personal.  
  
'And, I like her,' he thought. 'I like her very much. Why can I not love her?' But he knew the answer as he gazed up at the Misty Mountains. Middle Earth was still his first love. He'd spent so much time in Mirkwood, and had missed much of this world. The quest of the One Ring had woke his burning desire to see what was left of this land before he was forced to leave it. His people would eventually be gone and he would follow. But he would know what he missed before he left.  
  
Wearily he rested his head against the sun-warmed wall at his back and set the knife down, closing his eyes.  
  
'Perhaps if I…' but his thought was never finished. A dreadful voice fell upon his ears like a splash of cold water.  
  
"I thought I'd find you here, Elf!"  
  
Legolas' eyes flew open and even as they did he reached for the knife. Recognition was instant and he hurled the knife toward the dark wizard that suddenly stood there.  
  
Sildair laughed as he knocked the knife from the air with a twisted black staff.  
  
"Surprised to see me, Elf?" Sildair mocked as Legolas got quickly to his feet. "I'm sure Alede thought that I knew nothing of this place." He laughed nastily. "But I still have a few tricks left. Enough tricks to sneak up on an Elf. And Alede did not think to take my staff, did she?"  
  
Legolas said nothing. What was there to say to his former tormentor? Oddly, he was not surprised, though chills crawled up and down his spine. Despite Alede's reassurances, he'd expected this. Wizards did not give up easily.  
  
What ever happened he must not let Sildair know where Alede was. Cautiously he inched toward the door. Sildair might be able to block a poorly thrown knife, but he could not block an arrow. If he could just get to the bow that hung inside…  
  
"Oh, I think not," Sildair said and making a violent gesture at Legolas with his staff, he hurled a spell toward him. Legolas was thrown back against the wall and fell to the ground. He struggled to get up, but found an invisible force pressing him down.  
  
"Now, where is Alede?" Sildair asked, advancing on Legolas.  
  
Legolas continued to struggle with the spell. He could almost feel edges to it. If he could slip out from under it…  
  
"Where is she!?" Sildair screamed.  
  
"Orthanc," Legolas managed to say despite the weight holding him down. "She returned to Orthanc. She's looking for you…"  
  
"Liar," Sildair spat. "Elves have always been terrible liars." He raised his staff again. "Never mind, I'll find her myself and I'll deal with you later."  
  
He pointed the staff at Legolas again and began his incantation. "Nuzka a' bleniz kallumbul te wathu shiv'sal!"  
  
Legolas froze. Those were the same words he had heard in the dungeon. Panic seized him. The freezing spell swirled around him, slithering past his skin like ice.  
  
Legolas was barely aware of Sildair entering the tower house and then exiting furiously a moment later and walking up into the hills. Legolas tried to cry out, to warn Alede but no breath escaped him. In his panicked fog he forgot about the "edges" he'd felt on the spell and continued to struggle uselessly, waiting for the freezing cold to sink into his skin, into his very bones.  
  
****  
  
Alede leaned her staff against a tree. Around her birds chirped and the sun drifted lazily through the bare branches, warming her. Drifts of snow still clung to the shady areas, but much of it had melted. The ground squelched beneath her boots.  
  
Her heart was heavy at the thought of Legolas' departure. But the day was too glorious for her spirits to sink too low. And who knew what the future might hold? There was every possibility that she might travel to Ithilien. She was convinced that if she gave Legolas his freedom, she might win his heart some day. He obviously was not ready to take a woman into his life.  
  
How could she blame him? She could easily see that he hungered for adventure. Few women cared for travel, instead wishing to tie their men to hearth and home. No doubt he feared such confinement. Perhaps if she came to visit him in Ithilien, he would come to see that she was different…  
  
Did she dare hope that he might miss her when they were parted? It would make the reunion that much sweeter.  
  
Forcing her mind to consider happy possibilities, Alede pushed into the thickest part of the raspberry bramble. Thorns tugged at her tough leather breaches, but she ignored them for treasure lay ahead. In the very center of the patch, huge berries still clung to the vine. Most had withered in the cold of the storm, but in the places where they had been sheltered from the wind many had survived. Alede began filling her basket.  
  
She never even knew what hit her.  
  
One moment she was picking plump berries, the next she was flung out of the patch and into a snow bank. The wind was knocked out of her and she struggled to draw breath.  
  
"Well met, old friend," a voice hissed.  
  
Alede finally managed to roll over and face her attacker.  
  
"Sildair!" she gasped.  
  
"You didn't think I could find you, did you? Stupid girl!"  
  
Alede made no answer but stretched out her hand and called her staff to her. It flew through the air, but Sildair intercepted it. With a wave of his own staff, he sent it flying out of sight.  
  
Alede struggled to sit up as he advanced on her.  
  
"I told you it would not go well for you if you betrayed me," Sildair said furiously, his voice shaking with rage. "I'm going to kill you, my dear old friend. But not for a very long time. You'll beg me first before I'm through with you."  
  
Alede managed to stumble to her feet, looking around for a weapon. She knew she'd never call her staff back in time, wherever it was.  
  
"First though, you'll watch me finish my work with the Elf."  
  
Alede's head shot up. "You'll never touch him again," she snarled.  
  
"Oh no?" Sildair gave her a slimy, self-satisfied smile. "I've already put him back under the freezing spell. He won't give me as much trouble as he did the first time."  
  
"No!" Alede shouted. Had her talisman failed?  
  
"He succumbed much more quickly than he did the first time. The memory was still fresh after all. Fear is such a useful tool."  
  
Alede threw him a murderous look. She should have killed him! But right now, she had to find a way to fight him, to get back to Legolas…  
  
"I'll turn him into an Orc and you'll watch. I seem to remember that you had a liking for Elves. He's a pretty thing, isn't he? Are you fond of him? Would you like him still if his skin was burned and blackened and his teeth sharp as a wolf's?"  
  
Alede did the last thing Sildair was expecting. She launched herself at him, hands outstretched like claws. But she went not for the staff as he might have supposed, but for his face instead. Screaming as her fingernails raked across his eyes, Sildair tried to throw her off. But she clung to him. Her proximity made it impossible to use his staff without endangering himself.  
  
She drove her fist into Sildair's face, breaking his nose again and jabbed a thumb in his eye. As he lay writhing, she wrestled the staff away from him.  
  
"You always did talk too much," she shouted, clouting him hard with the staff. Sildair tried to use a spell to wrench it from her grasp, but she hung on tightly, countering it with a simple spell of her own. She could not use the staff's magic since it would only answer to its master. But as a green witch, there were other spells she could use.  
  
And she had not forgotten all of Elrohir's lessons. Taking an aggressive stance, she struck Sildair again. Using the staff to parry his movements, she hit him over and over. Each time he tried to chant, she struck him so that he couldn't finish.  
  
All around the clearing they battled. Some of Sildair's spells worked, throwing Alede off balance or tossing her to the ground. She scrambled to her feet and danced around him, striking him with all of her strength and with the fury born of love and desperation.  
  
One blow to the stomach doubled him over and too soon she thought she'd won. A spell streaked out and threw her to the ground again, but before she could leap up he used the freezing spell on her. The staff became so cold it burned her skin and she dropped it in dismay. Sildair lunged for it, but Alede drove her foot into his stomach. Forgetting the staff, Sildair had to defend himself against her furious physical assault.  
  
At first Alede thought she'd beat him. But finally Sildair's greater height and weight began to win out. Apparently he had not lived as softly as she'd thought.  
  
He bore her to the ground and her shoulder struck a rock, sending numbness through her whole arm. Paralyzed for a moment, Sildair gained the upper hand and pinned her. She struggled against his weight, but could not throw him off.  
  
"Do you yield?" Sildair panted. His foul breath puffed in her face.  
  
Alede shouted at him.  
  
"Tsk, tsk," Sildair scolded. "Such unlady like language. But then you never were much of a lady, were you?" His gaze ran down to her heaving chest. "Perhaps I just might let you live. Once you're properly broken in, I just might have a use for you."  
  
Alede's eyes widened and she struggled harder to dislodge him. But Sildair called his staff to him and suddenly Alede could not move. A holding spell wrapped around her and her simple green magic could not budge it.  
  
"Yes," Sildair said, considering. "That would be a fitting service for you. You're still very comely, you know."  
  
Alede shouted a few more choice words at him, struggling in vain against the spell.  
  
Sildair ignored her and with a tug, ripped the front of her tunic open. Alede screamed and Sildair laughed. He leaned over her, exposing her breasts. "Yes," he hissed. "This will do very nicely."  
  
Alede panicked. She could not move and could think of no way to defend herself. Fear clouded her mind and she felt that she would burst from it. She screamed again loud enough that the sound echoed off of the mountains.  
  
Sildair laughed again. "Now just hold still," he mocked.  
  
"NO!" Alede wailed as she felt his cold hands against her belly. Her vision started to go black as terror overtook her.  
  
But then a sound registered in her panic stricken mind.  
  
Thwip!  
  
It was followed by a thump and Sildair lurched to the side. Alede struggled to see what had happened and her panicked vision showed her an arrow embedded in Sildair's ribs.  
  
Legolas!  
  
She could not see him, but she knew he must be there. She screamed his name. Beside her, Sildair was paddling his legs in agony. Alede tried to inch away from him. But the spell still held her firmly. Movement caused her to turn her head and Legolas ran into view.  
  
Time seemed to stop as she watched his graceful movements. He ran low, like a hunter seeking cover, making no sound at all. Sunlight shone on his silver gold hair turning it to the color of moonlight. His twilight eyes swept over Alede and his face turned hard as he looked at Sildair. She watched his jaw muscles bunch in anger as he came to a gliding stop over them.  
  
Beside her, Sildair gasped and struggled to roll over. A knife suddenly pressed painfully against Alede's throat.  
  
"I'll kill her," the dark wizard warned. "Make another move, and I'll kill her."  
  
Legolas regarded him for a long moment and Alede forgot her fear as she looked into the Elf's furious gaze.  
  
"No. You won't." Legolas said evenly. And before Sildair could draw back the knife to slash, Legolas fitted arrow to string and shot him.  
  
Alede jumped as the spell suddenly released her. Sildair lay on his back an arrow piercing his skull, pinning his head to the ground. His mouth hung open at a hideous angle.  
  
Alede whimpered. Clutching her tunic she tried to stand. Legolas hauled her to her feet. With a cry, she threw her arms around his shoulders and sobbed against his chest. Legolas held her so tight she thought her ribs would crack, but she cared not. They stood on the hillside for a long time, while the sun shone down on them and the dark wizard lay still.  
  
****  
  
They slept chastely in each other's arms that night, both needing the comfort of the other. Legolas told her in the dark how he had overcome his panic to realize that the spell was not really holding him.  
  
"It was sliding all around me, but did not actually have a grasp on me," he had explained. "Once I realized that, I just slipped out from under it. Your talisman worked. It was my own fear that paralyzed me."  
  
They had dragged Sildair's body back to the tower house and burned it there on the open ground. His staff, she would take back to Orthanc. Older and wiser wizards would have to be consulted on how to best destroy it. Her own had been retrieved.  
  
How lucky we have both been, Legolas thought as he lay cradling Alede in the dark. He turned his head, resting his chin against her hair. If he had not gotten there in time…  
  
She whimpered in her sleep and he stroked her shoulder reassuringly. Her skin was warm beneath the nightshirt she wore and she smelled of soap. Legolas had bathed her wounds before they'd gone to bed.  
  
She would never know how closely he came to staying with her. His feelings had undergone a change. Seeing her lying there with a knife at her throat had made him realize just how much she meant to him. He still did not think he loved her. But his feelings had deepened. And while no intimacy had occurred between them, he needed the feel of her in his arms.  
  
Oddly enough, when he'd offered to stay a few more days, it had been Alede who'd insisted that he leave.  
  
"You have your work in Ithilien," she had told him. "And I must gather the remaining wizards to destroy Sildair's staff and wake the Watch Wood. We must also seal Orthanc. Who knows what other dangers might lay there. And I would wish to drive off what ever Orcs might remain. We will meet again, Legolas."  
  
Stroking her shoulder again, he knew that she was right. Perhaps he would visit the Misty Mountains again one day. Murmuring soft words to her, he drifted off to sleep.  
  
****  
  
Alede waited until Legolas had slipped down from the shadow horse, before sliding down herself. She adjusted the herb bundle on its neck so that it would not unmake. The pause also gave her time to regain her composure.  
  
Over the spell horse's back she saw the crouching bulk of Helm's Deep. As she looked, several faces peered out from battlements and windows. No doubt their landing had been observed. Horses did not drop out of the sky everyday.  
  
One particular face on the battlement was familiar. Its appearance was followed by a shout. Gimli had been watching for his friend.  
  
Alede turned to Legolas as he finished waving to the dwarf. The sun shone on his smiling face and Alede felt her resolve not to cry crumbling. She did not think she could endure this.  
  
"Come," Legolas said. "Let us greet Gimli and I will give you a proper introduction."  
  
She shook her head. "I can't. I'm sorry."  
  
Legolas' gaze fell to hers and the smile vanished.  
  
"Alede…"  
  
She shook her head. "Don't," she said forestalling what ever he had been about to say.  
  
Legolas looked at the ground for a long moment before he met her eyes again, sighing as he realized this was their final parting.  
  
"Thank you for my life, Lady," he said gravely.  
  
"And thank you for mine," she answered. Her voice trembled, but so far no tears had fallen.  
  
Legolas glanced over the horse's back. Alede could hear the Dwarf's labored approach though she could not see it. In another moment or two they would have company.  
  
Legolas turned back to her. Cupping her face with his hands, he bent his head and kissed her. It was not the kiss of a lover, but neither was it the simple peck of a friend. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sighed against his mouth and returned his kiss.  
  
He released her slowly and helped her to mount, since she could not see for the tears clouding her vision.  
  
"Farewell, Alede," he said squeezing her hand.  
  
She leaned down and lightly kissed the back of his knuckles. "Farewell, my Prince." And then before she lost all nerve, she released him and commanded her horse to rise. Wind blew in her face as the horse stepped up into the air and below her she heard the delighted cries of the dwarf as he ran across the field to his friend.  
  
Dashing the tears from her face, Alede looked back as Legolas bent to one knee, the leg that he could barely walk on four days ago. He greeted Gimli with an affectionate hug. The dwarf pounded him soundly on the back, on scars that had faded to almost nothing.  
  
"It is a good thing I have done, and an even better thing that I do," she whispered. "I will see you again someday, Legolas Greenleaf. On my love for you, I promise that."  
  
Turning forward, she pointed her horse's head toward Isengard and did not look back.  
  
The End.  
  
****  
  
A/N: My thanks to all of you and to everyone who has posted reviews. They mean sooooooo much. I especially appreciated the remarks concerning Alede. I tried to make her the type of character that we all could relate to. That we could essentially "step into her shoes". I hope that I accomplished that.  
  
I do have a sequel partially written. Here is a brief little blurb about the sequel which is called "The Caverns of Mirkwood" - Legolas returns to Mirkwood to find his father deathly ill. But is it a sickness or an evil spell that threatens King Thranduil?  
  
Interested? Let me know. I could be ready to post by next weekend. :)  
  
Thanks for reading! ~Nebride 


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